


Have to Earn It

by kirargent



Category: How to Get Away with Murder
Genre: (only a little), Begging, Community: femslash_kink, F/F, Smut, Vaginal Fingering, Wall Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-30
Updated: 2015-11-30
Packaged: 2018-05-04 03:23:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,277
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5318618
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kirargent/pseuds/kirargent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Their lips catch, and it's... not finessed, to put it lightly. Laurel tries to kiss her deep, and Michaela just tries to bite at Laurel's lips, fingernails digging into her shoulders, and there's teeth and spit and it's disgusting and oh, Michaela thinks, God, why hasn't she spent more of her time kissing girls?</p><p>
  <i>They won a case. Don't they deserve to celebrate?</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Have to Earn It

**Author's Note:**

> For [this prompt](http://femslash-kink.dreamwidth.org/15813.html?thread=2062789) (Laurel/Michaela, victory sex) for the Annual Femslash Kink Meme!
> 
> I won't lie, this was, like, 98% inspired by Michaela's little foot-stampy rant in season 1 about the trophy ("It doesn't _work_ like that; you have to _earn_ it, or it means _nothing_!").
> 
> Anyway, hope this was what you wanted!

“What the hell are you _doing_?” Michaela hisses.

Laurel looks up from her half-unbuttoned shirt, long fingers pausing in their work. She's already wiggled out of her tight slacks, which are now a gray heap on Michaela's entryway floor. Her expression is flat. She raises one eyebrow.

“Celebrating.”

The side of her mouth lifts in a crooked smile.

“Sorry, or am I reading this wrong? Were you _not_ ogling me all night?”

“I was not _ogling_ ,” Michaela says. It comes out shrill; she feels her cheeks burn. “Not that I was—I wasn't staring at you in the first place, but if I was, I certainly wasn't _ogling_ you.” She smooths down her skirt with her hands, feeling flustered.

God, she hates how Laurel gets under her skin.

Laurel's smile widens, lazy and sharp. “Okay,” she says. “Whatever you say.” She continues undressing, movements methodical.

Buttons open, she shrugs her shirt off, letting it slide from her arms to Michaela's floor. Her bra is red and lacy. Michaela's breath sticks in her throat.

“I,” she manages. “Wasn't staring at you.” And she's not going to be caught staring now, either. She averts her eyes from Laurel's delicate matching underwear set and pale, bare skin, fixing her eyes to the frosted sconce over Laurel's right shoulder.

Though she's not focusing on Laurel, Michaela can see her take two sedate steps closer. “We win a big case,” Laurel says slowly. “Annalise takes us out for drinks to celebrate. You spend the entire night undressing me with your eyes. I ask you for a ride because I've had too much to drink—which was a lie, by the way—and now I'm almost naked in your apartment.” Laurel takes another step closer, and Michaela takes a careful breath. “Are you really going to tell me you don't want to have sex?”

“I...” Michaela says. “...Yes?”

Laurel raises her eyebrows and licks her lips, and Michaela forgets not to stare. She watches Laurel's lips, her tongue—thinks, god, what would Laurel's mouth feel like between her legs? Heat sparkles through her blood..

“Oh, god,” she grates out. She takes a deep breath. “No.” Her voice only shakes a little. “I'm not going to tell you I don't want to have sex.”

Laurel smiles at her, eyes saying, _That's what I thought_. “We won, Michaela,” she says, voice low enough that Michaela imagines she can almost feel it trip over her skin, touching the sensitive parts of her—the insides of her wrists, her throat, breasts, between her legs. A warmth is starting to tingle in her stomach and her toes as Laurel stares at her. “We won; we beat them.”

 _Yes_ , Michaela thinks. They were smarter, better, worked harder.

“You earned this, Michaela,” Laurel says, “whatever you want.”

And Michaela makes a noise of frustration low in the back of her throat because she hates Laurel Castillo, hates how fucking turned on she is, but she's been staring at Laurel's mouth all night at the bar, has been imagining three fingers fucking her hard, and now she closes the space between them and grips Laurel by the shoulders to yank her into kissing range.

Their lips catch, and it's... not finessed, to put it lightly. Laurel tries to kiss her deep, and Michaela just tries to bite at Laurel's lips, fingernails digging into her shoulders, and there's teeth and spit and it's disgusting and oh, Michaela thinks, God, why hasn't she spent more of her time kissing girls?

Why hasn't she spent more time kissing Laurel in particular?

Laurel, infuriating, sexy Laurel, who slides her hands up Michaela's back under her shirt and looses her bra before Michaela even realizes what she's doing. Laurel, whose already nearly-naked body is pressed all up against Michaela.

A leg slides between Michaela's thighs, rocking up against her in a way that feels good enough that it's obviously a practiced motion. It takes all of five seconds for Michaela to let a broken moan fall into Laurel's open mouth. Her body gives a warm throb of arousal; when Laurel shifts her leg, Michaela's panties press against her pussy, and it's obvious that they're getting wet.

She feels Laurel smile—more teeth in the kiss—and then Laurel's pulling away enough to strip Michaela's bra from under her sweater and tug her slacks down around her ankles. She smirks at Michaela, devilish. Michaela wants to die, or maybe to come, standing right here in her entryway with her pants not even fully off, or maybe to make _Laurel_ come—she's not even sure _what_ she wants, just that she _wants_.

Laurel eyes her up and down, seeming to deliberate. She steps back into Michaela's space.

“We,” she says, eyes locked with Michaela's, fingers toying with the hem of Michaela's sweater, “won.” She says it like she knows that the statement sends a vicious thrill of pleasure coursing through Michaela's body to pool, hot and heavy, between her legs. Michaela hates that Laurel knows her so well.

“Yeah,” Michaela breathes.

Laurel palms her breasts through her shirt, and Michaela gasps as the soft fabric drags against her nipples.

Laurel's grin is terrifying.

“I,” Michaela says, then falls silent.

“You what?” Laurel prompts. She massages Michaela's breasts, slow and gentle. Her leg is gone from between Michaela's thighs, but somehow she feels more desperate now, her pussy aching with want. Laurel pinches her nipples lightly, and Michaela clenches, hips stuttering in tiny little jerks. Laurel's eyes darken as she watches, noticing Michaela's every reaction, paying attention to what gets her off most. Michaela's cheeks blaze with warmth. This is _humiliating_. How is Laurel playing her body so easily?

“I...” Michaela says again, then makes an indignant noise of frustration, wanting Laurel to get on with things.

Laurel drops a hand to Michaela's panties, runs one fingertip along the length of her pussy, front to back. It's too gentle for Michaela's liking, but good enough to punch out a moan.

“I want you to say it,” Laurel tells her. She taps Michaela's swollen clit, just once. Desperation shoots up Michaela's spine; her knees nearly give.

“You worked so hard on this case. We won. It's finally over.” Her smile is filthy, and Michaela hates the way it makes her toes curl. “I think you've earned any reward you want, don't you?”

Michaela takes a shaky inhale. She nods, holding her breath.

“So, what do you want?” Laurel asks lightly.

“I,” Michaela says again, and jesus, her voice is high and trembly and not at all like herself. Laurel's eyes fix on her mouth as she speaks. Michaela thinks she might whimper, or beg, or sit down on the floor and start touching herself, but somehow she knows Laurel would find any of those things amusing, so she keeps herself under control.

“I want you to fuck me,” she says, and then smiles sweetly.

There. Much better.

Her voice sounded much more composed.

“Jesus, Michaela,” Laurel groans, and then dives for Michaela's neck like she's starving.

Her teeth play with Michaela's pulse point; she backs them up until Michaela's standing against the wall.

“How do you want it?” she gasps when she's not too busy teasing Michaela's ear with her teeth. Her thigh is back between Michaela's legs, rubbing in a slow, steady rhythm that makes Michaela's breath catch and her hips rock instinctively.

Michaela bites into her lower lip. Her head falls back to rest against the wall. Her hands are on Laurel's shoulders, grip tight as she hangs on. She fucks against Laurel's thigh like she's desperate for it.

Which, okay. She is.

“I want you to fuck me,” she says, closing her eyes against the embarrassment. Laurel was right: she worked hard, and she _earned_ this. She should get to have what she wants. And what she wants is Laurel. “Hard,” she adds. “With—with your fingers. And—I want to know what—” her breath hitches as Laurel presses her harder into the wall with the leg between her thighs “—your mouth feels like.”

Laurel smiles against her throat; Michaela can feel that her breath is coming quickly. That's gratifying, at least. She's not sure she could bear it if Laurel was still entirely composed.

Laurel pulls her leg away to replace it with a hand, cupping Michaela through her wet panties and rubbing up and down. Michaela moans through closed lips, a noise pulled from far down in her chest.

“Oh, god,” she pants. “Laurel—” She closes her eyes again to make herself say it. The words come on a fast exhale: “Oh, _god_ , Laurel, make me come, please make me come.”

Laurel releases a gaspy little sigh against Michaela's neck, rubbing her a little harder through her panties. Michaela can feel that they're well on the way to soaked through, now; Laurel presses the thin fabric up against her wetness and slides it around with those forceful, flat fingers, and Michaela can already feel herself starting to clench and release reflexively, pussy hot and throbbing, clit crying for more attention.

“Please, Laurel,” she says, face screwed up because she hates hates hates that she's begging Laurel Castillo for anything.

“God, Michaela, you're so hot,” Laurel complains into her neck. Michaela would like to pretend that the praise doesn't make her shiver all over with pleasure, but yeah, there's no way Laurel misses the faltering of her hips and the choke in her breathing.

“You earned that win,” Laurel says, speaking quietly against the soft skin just below Michaela's jaw. Her lips almost tickle. “Annalise stood up in court, but you're the one who won this one.” She pinches at Michaela's right nipple, rolling it between her thumb and forefinger through Michaela's thin sweater.

Michaela clamps down on a whimper, body sagging against the wall. Laurel slides her fingers, already wet through Michaela's panties, beneath the filthy fabric to tease around her lips with her fingertips.

“Oh, just fuck me, Laurel,” Michaela says through her teeth, hating how strained her voice sounds.

Laurel slides two fingers up into her all the way, and Michaela gasps out a cry, contracting tight around Laurel's fingers without meaning to.

“ _Oh_ ,” she says. She hadn't really expected Laurel to comply.

“It was your work that won it for us today,” Laurel tells her. Michaela does all she can not to tighten up around Laurel's fingers, but she can't fucking help it. She clenches, rocks her hips up and down, tries to fuck herself on Laurel's hand. She feels Laurel smile against her neck.

Then Laurel starts to fuck her, thumb occasionally skating over her clit with just enough pressure to make her jerk and try curl in over herself as pleasure shocks through her.

“Please,” she says to Laurel, “please, please, please.”

“You work so hard all the time.” Laurel slides her fingers in and out a little faster, and the orgasm starts to coil in Michaela's stomach and burn in the tips of her toes. She lets her mouth fall open, struggling for breath. “Way harder than any of the rest of us. You were better than the other side, Michaela. That's why we won.”

Michaela's hands slip from Laurel's shoulders, falling to the wall on either side of herself. Pleasure tingles up her legs, makes her knees weak, makes her stomach muscles tighten. It's building; god, she's gonna come. Laurel is fucking her up against the wall after they won a case and _god_ , she's so close—

“You earned this, Michaela,” Laurel says again. “Any prize you want. You want my mouth? You want me to make you come until you pass out?”

And Michaela doesn't trust herself to speak without squeaking, but she manages a pathetic moan and sort of a nod. Laurel presses her thumb into Michaela's clit, slowing her pace to rub intent-fully against it, up, down—she rubs in tiny circles, not letting up even when Michaela's hips start to rock, and it's building and building and Michaela can't squirm away from Laurel's thumb, and she comes, hard. Her whole body locks up. She clenches down on Laurel's fingers tighter than she thinks she ever has before, muscles contracting in hard, rhythmic spasms that she's not in any control of.

A breathy “Oh, god,” is punched from her gut. Fresh heat zings through her each time Laurel's thumb rubs over her clit, making her stomach muscles tremble and her pussy throb with a new pulse of pleasure.

“Laurel,” she manages, but doesn't get out anything more. Thankfully, Laurel stops with the incessant circling of her clit. She drags in a breath.

Laurel draws away from her neck to grin at her, cheeks a little pinked, eyes sparkling. Michaela opens her mouth to speak, but Laurel presses her thumb against Michaela's clit again, and all that comes out is a choked moan as Michaela clenches down again, too-raw heat jerking her spine.

“Sorry,” Laurel says, but she doesn't look it.

“It's—okay,” Michaela manages, melting back against the wall. With care and some effort, as Michaela's body doesn't seem eager to let them go, Laurel works her fingers free of Michaela.

Michaela's pussy feels warm and open, fucked-out; her knees feel made of jello. There's a good chance, she thinks absently, that she may soon be unable to stop herself from collapsing to the floor of her entryway.

“Oh, no,” Laurel says, as if having read something in Michaela's expression. A smile curves up, predatory. “Bedroom. You said you wanted to feel my mouth.”

 _I might die_ , Michaela thinks.

She points. “Down the hall, on your right.”

She worked hard to earn this, after all.

 

**Author's Note:**

> [on tumblr](http://kirargent.tumblr.com/post/134248347561/have-to-earn-it-laurelmichaela-2k-for-this)


End file.
